Risk it, or not?

Life continually presents us with opportunities to take risks, to operate outside our comfort zone. The question then is do you take the risk, or do you stick with the familiar and stay in what is oftentimes the not-so-comfortable comfort zone?

I believe that the primary part of our life’s purpose is to allow God to operate in, through, and as us in order to “do something”, to intervene in not only our lives but in the lives of others.

I’m recalling the risks I’ve taken over the past several years, some of which I wasn’t fully aware and others to which I consciously surrendered.

Yesterday, the Universe presented me with the opportunity to take yet another risk: Letting go of the stuff that’s been stored in my sister’s basement since December 2011, or continuing to hold on to it for fear of not having it when I need it.

Here’s the thing. My sister is embarking upon an amazing journey herself and was moving her things from her basement to a storage unit yesterday. As we contemplated whether there’d be enough room for both our stuff, I considered letting it all go, except for those few boxes containing those items of sentimental value, e.g., my son’s first blanket, shoes, t-shirt, etc.; photo albums; the collector volumes of novels featuring my Grandpa Robin Bess as Adam; some limited edition artwork; and, of course, the two tool boxes brimming with my beloved tools and several power drills.

Just a few hours earlier, new friends had left with stacks of books that I believed I could live without. Strangely, though, a few of the books they didn’t select somehow made their way back into a box I’d previously taped shut. “How could I have put them in that pile in the first place?” I wondered.

Later, as a stood in the basement deciding the fate of my stuff and feeling excited at the prospect of letting go, I shared what I was considering with a few of my friends via text message.

My life coach friend Cassandra Nkem-Nwosu (@livingtheiam) shared with me her experience with having done the same: “I did something similar years ago…stored some things at my sister’s house, didn’t even bother to go through it–I just let it go!”

Shortly thereafter, a wave of sadness engulfed me as I faced the reality of no longer being able to dig through the boxes looking for those items I believed I couldn’t live without. Having my stuff, as little as it is compared to times past, gave me that familiar sense of security from times past and from which I had endeavored previously to detach. But here I was again, using stuff instead of God as my security blanket.

Cassandra added, “be present to whatever you’re feeling” as she also pointed out that our attachment to stuff oftentimes keeps us attached to ideas that no longer serve us.

My friend Linda responded with “….think I better let it go…let it go baby..looks like another love TKO….”, a line from a Teddy Pendergrass’ song, ‘Love TKO’.

My wellness coach friend, Star Waters (@grannygoneraw), responded with “That’s an amazing strength you have!! Surrender is awesome!!”, and I felt empowered.

My author and teacher friend Dianne Rosena Jones (@dijones247) weighed in with, “I know that’s right. “Let it go, let it go….” I’m singing the theme song from the movie Frozen.”

So, feeling empowered by having decided to let it go, my nephew John Micah loaded those six boxes onto the truck, leaving the rest to be dealt with later.

A few minutes later, my sister, nieces and I began the two and a half hour drive to the storage unit down near the farm and Mama.

On the ride back to Atlanta that night, I kept hearing “former life”, and as I thought about certain pieces of my stuff, I felt that I didn’t want to be surrounded by stuff from my former life. That whatever my new beginning is, I want it to be wearing a fresh coat.

Awake early this morning, I opened Bill and Beni Johnson’s book Walking in the Supernatural: Another Cup of Spiritual Java to the chapter bookmarked and titled, ‘He Gets to Do Something’, and it seemed to confirm my decision. Author Kevin Dedmon talked at length about how our pursuit of the seemingly impossible affords God the opportunity to intervene in our lives and circumstances by working on our behalf, which is precisely what my journey has been about since leaving my job, selling my house a year later, driving cross country for five months, living on the farm for nine, and with family and friends since then. What a ride it’s been!!

But instead of busying myself with getting rid of all my unnecessary stuff, I spent today reflecting on my decision, writing this blog post, and nursing this horrendous cold. Yes, I feel pretty miserable, but as another friend observed this morning, it’s giving “you the opportunity to get some much needed rest.”

Yes, I am indeed blessed!!

Included here are the few pictures I made while down home yesterday.

On the road again…

June 26, 2014: Today has been reminiscent of a day on my cross-country road trip a couple of years ago. After being there for almost two weeks, I left the farm at 10 this morning heading back to Atlanta. It’s a 2.5 hour drive but after five hours of driving, I’m an hour and a half away in a Macon Burger King where I stopped for libations and to Google the exact directions to the Otis Redding monument.

Quarry (?) on the US-441 bypass

I exited I-16 in Dublin to take the US 441 Bypass to Ivey. It was a typical drive on a four-lane highway until I reached that stretch of road called Culver Kidd Highway that runs through Irwin County. The views of the valleys, what appeared to be a quarry, and the puffy white clouds were spectacular. I snapped a few shots but couldn’t adequately capture the magic of the moment.

Several minutes later, I was crossing Lake Tchukolako bridge into Ivey. Pronounced ‘chew-co-la-co’, the pristine lake, spanning both sides of the bridge, sparkled in the sunlight and boy did I want to stop!! Laws being what they are, however, I kept moving and found a place to park across the street from Ivey General Store near the river bank, made photos, and inhaled the beauty. The cashier in the store had recommended the best spot for making photos but unfortunate for me, the gate to the “members only” club was closed that afternoon.

A half hour or so later, I was on the road to Macon when I passed a sign to Griswoldville Battlefield monument, a Civil War battle site. I made a U-turn and was making a right turn onto Baker Road a few minutes later. Nailed to a power line pole at the intersection was a sign detailing the history of Baker Road so I parked and made a photo before arriving at the monument three or four minutes later.

Baker Road marker

Except for the house with a car parked out front about 200 feet from the monument, the place, in the middle of open fields divided by the highway and surrounded by woods, was deserted. After reading the markers and making photos of the monument and scenery, I went back to my car to read more about the battle and upload pics to Facebook. As I sat there engrossed in what I was doing—and I hesitate sharing this—I heard what sounded like marching but dismissed it because, like I said, the area was deserted.

Battle of Griswoldville monument

A few minutes later, I heard footsteps and thought it might be a park employee or someone from the house walking over to tell me more about the battle. When I looked over my shoulder, however, no one was there. I heard those footsteps several more times before I left but never saw a soul! It’s a little spooky to think about now, but I wasn’t at all disturbed at the time.

Next stop on my trek to Atlanta was Macon proper. I say proper because instead of going back the way I’d come, I followed the GPS along the dirt roads of rural Macon, first on Mountain Springs Church Road then on to Old Macon Road.

Having decided to check out the monument late evening or in the morning, I drove to the Ocmulgee Heritage Trail and found the river level so low that families had made a makeshift beach on the river bank. I, too, left my shoes on the bank and waded in.The rain came, but I wasn’t quite ready to let go of the magic so I sat in the car until it stopped and the sun reappeared. I walked over to a nearby puddle to rinse the sand and river mud off my feet before heading to Vivian’s for the night.

Otis Redding monument

I was out early the next morning but not quite early enough to beat the hot sun that accompanied me on the half mile walk to Gateway Park across the river. So, while ‘Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay’ and others of Otis Redding’s songs played at the monument, I found a spot under his namesake bridge to cool off.

I walked the half mile back to my car, retrieved my tablet, found a shaded park bench on which to read and soak up more of nature’s magic. An hour or so later, I reluctantly relinquished my seat and headed back to the city to help prepare for a weekend long estate sale. And that, my friends, is how to turn a two and a half hour drive into a two day adventure.

 

 

On the US-441 bypass

Quarry (?) on the US-441 bypass

Railroad tracks

Lake Tchukolako

Clouds over Lake Tchukolako

Baker Road marker

Battle of Griswoldville monument

Battle of Griswoldville monument

Battle of Griswoldville historical marker

Field of wildflowers

Clouds over the Battle of Griswoldville monument

Pond on Mountain Springs Church Road

Mountain Springs Church Road, Macon

“Beach” on the Ocmulgee River

Muddy feet

Otis Redding monument

View from beneath the Otis Redding Bridge

Otis Redding monument marker

View from the Otis Redding Bridge, Macon

Trail at Ocmulgee Heritage Trail, Macon

On my birthday

As I awakened to the dawn of my 54th year, I lay there reflecting on my one life and all the challenges, changes, and beauty I’ve seen during the course of those years. It hasn’t always been easy, but I’m thankful to have recognized that I wasn’t alone on the journey. I’m thankful to have recognized, too, that the journey wasn’t all about me.

I’m thankful to have realized that for all the times I may have fallen and come short, I can finally acknowledge and accept that I did the best I could with what I had at the time.

I’m thankful for the release that came from hearing Mother Maya Angelou when she told us that “when you know better, you do better.” I’m so thankful that as I have learned better, I have done better.

No, it wasn’t always easy, but I’m forever grateful for the heart and mind for transformation with which the Almighty graced me. It was He who helped me see myself and others as He sees us, a gift that gave me understanding and compassion during those times when I didn’t understand who I or they were being…during those times when all I wanted to do was just cuss and say, “to hell with you!”

I’m thankful for the many days and nights of tears, tears that freed me from decades of repressed emotions and that freed the butterfly I always knew was trapped beneath all the pain, fear, anger, inadequacy, and insecurity. It was a cauldron of emotions on which I’d spent many years keeping the lid tightly sealed, but as that little girl demanded her freedom, it became more and more difficult to do so.

Then, one day in 1996, while confined to my bedroom after surgery on a broken ankle, that little girl’s demands became more than I could repress. At the insistence of my big sister Sheila (Stanley Bowser), I made the call that set in motion the transformation of a lifetime! I obtained the name of a psychotherapist from the insurance company, made the appointment, and began the reclaiming of Lydia. It would be a few years before we got around to releasing the emotions, but we did that, too.

When I look at my life today, I am thankful for the peace, the contentment, the happiness, and the passion I feel. My life today is the opposite of the life I was living in 2010 when I gave it all up to begin traveling light. I’ve had moments—ok, weeks, maybe even months–of fear and panic, wondering what was going to happen to me, where I was going to end up. Thankfully, though, I found my way when God showed me the beauty of the season I’m in right now. Through Joel Osteen, He implored me further to focus on the beauty and all that I do have instead of the burden of what I don’t.

What I see now are the blessings. The blessing of family and friends who love me, support me, and who have opened their homes to me during this continuing season of growth and change.

I see the blessing in experiencing God in nature almost daily in parks and by rivers and lakes in various cities.

I see the blessing in being able to photograph those God moments in ways that will inspire others. How satisfying to hear from a viewer that those photos are a source of inspiration, peace, and calm.

So, while my life may not be what it used to be, I am eternally grateful for what it is. I am thankful, too, for every person who has supported me in ways too numerous to mention as I move through this season, which, quite honestly is the second best time of my life!! What’s the first, you ask? That would be my cross-country road trip.

Oh, there’s one more thing that I’ve realized, and it’s that I’ve embarked upon yet another journey that I know will take me places spiritually—and probably emotionally and physically, too—to which I’ve never been, and I’m very excited about it!

As I end this post, I’m reminded of a line from Gil Scott-Heron’s song ‘I’m New Here’. In it he says,

“No matter how far wrong you’ve gone, you can always turn around.”

I hope I’ve said something today that will inspire you to turn around.

With this post, I’m including a few random photos I made over the last few days. I hope you enjoy them.

Bess Walker Park

A road at Indian Springs

Mama’s backyard

The swings at Trammell Crow Park, Atlanta

Little friend

A favorite spot at Indian Springs State Park

On Avondale Lake at Bess Walker Park

Walking trail in Bess Walker Park

Liberty Lake in Freedom Park, Macon

Sister’s flower garden

Irresistible beauty in a cousin’s yard in Atlanta

Snail on the trail in Trammell Crow Park, Atlanta

A visitor in Freedom Park, Macon

Another drop-in at Freedom Park

Yet another drop-in at Freedom Park

Dragonfly at Little Ocmulgee State Park

Little Ocmulgee State Park

Little Ocmulgee State Park

The Makings of You

Add a little sugar, honeysuckle lamb
A great big expression of happiness
Boy, you couldn’t miss with a dozen roses
Such would astound you
The joy of children laughing around you
These are the makings of you
It is true, the makings of you…

Those are the opening lyrics to Curtis Mayfield’s ‘The Makings of You’, a beautiful song I rediscovered this morning before my afternoon “appointment” at Bess Walker Park in Avondale Estates, Georgia near Decatur.

The song was on repeat as I drove the 17 miles to the park and as beautiful as the lyrics and melody are, it’s the title that’s resonating most with me as I write this. ‘The Makings of You’ is an apt description of what my life has been since 2010. I could say 1996 when a broken ankle forced me to a place free from the distraction of work and started me on the journey to peel back the layers of what had become my life on that dark night in 1975 when my sisters, brother, and I waited alone and terrified that strangers would break into the house at any minute to hurt us.

I say 2010, though, because it was then that I made the conscious and deliberate decision to get to know God on a level deeper than I had known Him before. In her book, Venetia Carpenter calls it ‘Life Outside the Matrix: A Journey Into the Supernatural Lifestyle’. I’d never heard of her until her book showed up in one of those free eBook emails to which I subscribe. Having read its description, I knew it was one of those God things because it so perfectly described my journey, and it was FREE!! So, I downloaded the book and began the journey to yet another awakening.

Prior to my discovery of ‘Life Outside the Matrix’, I’d begun stressing and worrying about my lack of finances. Out of fear and panic, I began applying for jobs, any job, and only received two responses, both from the one company whose politics and employment practices I abhor. I was desperate, though, and responded. When I followed up, however, one HR manager couldn’t locate my application and the other customer service rep who answered the phone hadn’t even heard of the HR person I was to contact. I figure that was God protecting me from my plans!

Before all of this stress, worry, and frantic job searching began, I was focused on my writing and editing my photos. Once the stress began, however, those endeavors fell by the wayside, and I have yet to recover. What I did do, though, was to face a few giants…the giants that dictated that I maintain the facade I’d been wearing for umpteen years.

One giant had convinced me that I was a failure; that I must have done something wrong to find myself in these circumstances. The other giant had persuaded me that I should be ashamed of those circumstances and that no matter what, no one was to know the details of my situation. I totally ignored the obvious significance of having maintained a household until December 2011, of having paid those sky-high COBRA premiums for medical coverage for over a year, and of having driven across country from January to June in 2012, all without employment! So yes, despite other life difficulties, I’ve been incredibly blessed, even if I couldn’t see it at the time.

It wasn’t until a friend got what I call “in my stuff” did my perspective about my situation began to shift. I’d asked that he say a prayer for me because “my life is a challenge right now.” He wanted to know what I was talking about but since I was heeding the commands of those giants, there was absolutely no way I was gonna spill those beans that Sunday evening! His question was sincere and innocent enough, but I didn’t like it one bit.

I needed to explore why his question prompted such a reaction; I needed to know why I was so adamantly opposed to revealing that part of my life when I’d been just as adamant about flexing that vulnerability muscle at other times. I’d done it a few months prior so what was the problem now?

I awoke that Monday morning with “it’s all about perspective” replaying in my mind and despite conversations with friends as well as readings and prayers from Vanzant, Carpenter, Osteen and Charles Slagle (‘Abba Calling’), it took an entire week for me to wrap my head around the idea of letting go; to ‘fess up, as it were. In the process, I had to face some other uncomfortable truths about myself: that I had not been practicing unconditional love, not with myself and not with others. I was full of judgment and expected that same judgement from others if I told them me story.

I also had to acknowledge my feelings of unworthiness; unworthiness that said I was undeserving of love no matter what my “temporary” circumstances happened to be (yes, temporary; I came to that realization, too). Along with that truth came the realization that I was also deeming others in similar circumstances as unworthy.

It was a difficult process, yes, but what a relief it was to finally disabuse myself of those beliefs and judgements. Let me say, though, that despite those realizations, mine continues to be a work in progress and I have to remain vigilant and aware of what I’m thinking.

Those giants slain, or at least severely crippled, fast forward to today’s “appointment” in the park. I was meeting a friend who I knew was going through a very difficult time emotionally. As I prepared to leave home, I kept thinking about what to say. I asked God to take the lead and allow me to be the instrument to help heal this wounded soul.

During the 30-minute drive, ‘The Makings of You’ continued to play as I continued to pray. At the park, I discovered that we shared similar experiences, which, if you know how God works, was no coincidence. So I shared my story and offered what I pray was hope for a new beginning. I was reminded in the process of the many times God has worked behind the scenes orchestrating the tune to which I’ve danced most of my life, providing precisely what I’ve needed even when I didn’t know what to ask, and assuring me repeatedly that “I got you, daughter, so stop worrying!” I still struggle with that one, but it’s getting easier and becoming second nature…or is it first?

These are the photographs I made while in the park on this amazing afternoon. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed making them!

Goodbye to a friend on his birthday

We would’ve been celebrating Tony’s 53rd birthday today had he not transitioned on December 30, 2012. I only knew Antonio Wise a few years, having met him in Jackson, GA one Sunday afternoon when my car wouldn’t start while en route to Indian Springs State Park.

Antonio “Tony” Wise

He offered to drive me, Ava, Savanna, and Ceilene back to Riverdale, but we road with the tow driver instead. Because he was waiting to hear from me about the ride and his phone number was in my truck which was on the flatbed, I had to wait until I was home to let him know we’d made it.

Tony and I talked for several hours that evening and became good friends. From day one, Tony opened up to me about his childhood and his life, and it was obvious that he carried a lot of anguish. He’d lost his mother from an illness at a young age, but was fortunate to have two aunts who loved him. The few years I knew him, he was suffering and in pain most of the time but it never stopped him from doing what he had to do. I was often amazed and encouraged by his tenacity and determination and wondered how I would respond in similar circumstances.

Tony was more than a friend to me; he was also my brother. His body may have been failing him, but Tony’s heart was golden. I lived alone at that time, and he always checked in to see if I were ok or needed anything. If I did, he was right there and whatever he had, he was willing to share and often stopped by with a bag of this or a bag of that.

We both enjoyed a good laugh and always managed to have one when we were together. There were times, though, that he tried my patience but our talks about what was really going on served to strengthen our bond.

Tony’s relationship wasn’t limited to me; he also developed relationships with my sister Ava, her husband Frank, and my nieces remember him as the man who helped us in Jackson and who gave us sodas that day we were at his house. He attended family get-togethers, too, and got to meet my mother as well.

Mama

And if anyone knows my mother, you know you don’t just meet her; she’s an encounter! She’s going to find out who your people are and either engage you in a discussion about Scripture or regale you with stories and side-splitting jokes. Tony was no exception. Whenever he’d ask about her, it was always with a chuckle about something she’d said. “Your mama is a trip,” he’d say.

I spoke with Tony several times while on the road. One conversation in particular was on the day I was exploring Chuckanut Drive in Washington state.

Knowing he was having health issues, Ava tried to stay in touch with him, too, but both our attempts had been unsuccessful. I left him another message (and can even recall the highway scenery of that moment), and he called a little while later. I was out photographing the creek at Oyster Creek Inn when we talked and he told me that he was scheduled for more tests to determine what was causing his continued weight loss. If anyone had reason to be discouraged, it was Tony but he remained hopeful that everything would be ok.

We talked again while I was down home on the farm after returning from my road trip, and he was still sick but remaining hopeful. After that, all of our calls went unanswered.

Back in Atlanta, I learned that my nephew knew the manager at Tony’s last place of employment and had him inquire about him. “Tony’s a good guy. He called in sick one day, and we didn’t hear anything else from him,” is what the manager said.

Ava and I continued calling and even went to his last known address. It was a gated community, though, so we couldn’t gain access. Ava then suggested I google him. I did, but found nothing. I googled again a few weeks later and found an obituary for Antonio Wise of Atlanta. Unsure if the obit were for our Antonio Wise—and hoping that it wasn’t—I reached out on Facebook to a few people on the registry but heard nothing. I went back to the obituary a few weeks later and found a couple of email contacts. I wrote them–a niece and a friend–and learned that the obit was indeed for our Tony. His friend graciously provided a phone number and filled me in on Tony’s last days.

That conversation was over a month ago, and I still find myself pondering Tony’s life, a life that ended a couple of days before the new year began. I wonder what he thought about in those last days, if he knew he had friends who loved and missed him.

As I write this, it seems that I’m still mourning my friend, a friend whose life was filled with pain and suffering but also filled with love, generosity and hope. We didn’t get to say goodbye, Tony, but know that you’re often in our thoughts and will always be in our hearts. Rest in peace, my friend.

San Simeon in March

I’d spent most of the day sorting through photos from my road trip but when I came across the ones of San Simeon, California, I stopped to reflect on the beauty of that evening and morning. It’s amazing how pictures can awaken memories and take you back to that moment in time. And even though it’s over a year since I was on the beach there, it feels as though it were yesterday.

I arrived in San Simeon from Santa Barbara on my way to San Francisco. I was driving the Pacific Coast Highway when I saw a sign to the (William Randolph) Hearst Castle. I’d heard about the castle for years so I exited to satisfy my curiosity. And even though the castle was quite a few miles off route, the beauty of the area made the drive worthwhile. It’s a wonder I even made it to San Simeon that evening given all the stops I made for photographs.

Ordinarily I didn’t talk on the phone or listen to the radio during my trip but that day was an exception. I’d looked forward to driving along the ocean from Los Angeles so I was bubbling with excitement and wanted to share it. As if reading my mind, my friend Andrena telephoned and I’m recalling our conversation as if it, too, were yesterday. I’d been on her mind, she said, so she said a prayer for me and called. I made several stops during the course of our conversation and can remember the scene I was photographing when we talked about upholstering her couch. How funny!

When I finally reached San Simeon and Hearst Castle, it was late afternoon, and I couldn’t resist stopping to photograph the ocean outside of town. The seagulls were everywhere as a tourist fed them. The water was choppy, and the bluffs were simply awesome!

When I finally made my way to the Hearst Castle Visitors Center, I was too late for the tour. The castle sits atop a mountain 1,600 feet from the visitor center, and necessitates a bus ride. Not to be held captive by guided tours anyway (except when I was in Mexico City a couple of years ago), I viewed the castle from the observation deck. Regrettably, though, my camera was a bit out of focus so my pictures didn’t turn out very well.

The next morning, I was out early to check out the section of beach directly across from my hotel. I figured I’d take a few photographs and be on my way, but that was not to be. Despite the misty breeze, it was so tranquil that I got so caught up in the beauty and serenity that I couldn’t tear myself away. I took photograph after photograph of the ocean, of the waves crashing against the rocks, of the birds overhead and those foraging for food, of the plants, seaweed, puddles and bluffs. Instead of seashells, colored pebbles covered the shore and after a while, I rested my camera to collect two hands full.

A couple of hours later, I headed to the Jeep but the wildflowers captured my attention, and I snapped more photos. Three hours later, I was in Paso Robles, a mere 38 miles from San Simeon! The countryside was stunning—hills, valleys, farmhouses, barns, cows grazing on distant hills, vineyards, trees growing with the slant of the hill—and I couldn’t resist capturing all of it. I’m still in awe of the photograph I took of the hills and valleys with what turned out to be the ocean as backdrop.

Needless to say, I didn’t make it to San Francisco that day. I spent the night on Monterey Bay in Marina, which, by the way, was the one and only time I slept with my weapon on the nightstand. But that’s a story for another day.

Writing and reminiscing

It’s been a year since my cross-country road trip ended and after almost nine months on the farm, I’m back in Atlanta and have been reading my blog. I’ve been viewing pics this morning, too, and they’ve put me in the feeling space of those moments and again, it’s indescribable! Here are a few pictures I took in Washington state on Queen Anne Hill and the Space Needle in Seattle; at Jimi Hendrix’s gravesite; at Snoqualmie Falls; on Whidbey Island at Meerkeek Rhodendron Gardens and Deception Pass; on Chuckanut Drive; on the road to Mt. Saint Helens and Leavenworth; and in Kennewick.

Holly on Chuckanut Drive

Section of road on Chuckanut Drive

View from the bridge at Oyster Creek Inn

Jimi Hendrix gravesite

Birds on hotel roof in Kennewick

Meerkeet Rhododendron Gardens on Whidbey Island

Meerkeet Rhododendron Gardens on Whidbey Island

Meerkeet Rhododendron Gardens on Whidbey Island

View of Mt. Ranier on the road to Snolqualmie Falls

View from the road to Leavenworth

View from the road to Leavenworth

View from the road to Leavenworth

Snoqualmie Falls

Snoqualmie Falls

Moss-covered branches near Mt. Saint Helens

View from Queen Anne Hill

View from Queen Anne Hill

Afternoon at Bunker Hill

This is a picture of the dog I encountered on the trail to Bunker Hill Covered Bridge in Claremont near Winston-Salem, NC. After spending the morning in Old Salem and a brief stop at Murray’s Mill, it was early afternoon when I finally arrived and aside from being woody, the park was also deserted, except for this dog.

I was tempted to abandon my quest when I met her, but I had spent too much time and traveled too many miles (I didn’t have very good directions from Murray’s Mill) to find this covered bridge so I couldn’t just walk away. What I decided to do then was make friends with her. We talked a few minutes, and she allowed me to take this photograph before disappearing. I looked for her on the trail to and from the bridge but like a ghost, she was nowhere to be seen.

St. Paul and Houston

When I started writing this post, I was on my way to St. Paul Missionary Baptist Church where I was baptized as a child but stopped attending after my father died. I’ve been there for funerals but today will be the first time I’ve attended a regular church service in over 37 years, which is when Daddy died and when I stopped remembering.

I hadn’t thought much about the impact it might have on me until my brother GB expressed the difficulty he might have if he went. He was recalling all the times Deacon George Bess led the devotional service where he’d read a verse, and the congregation would then sing that verse in a distinct tune and rhythm. I was happy to see that they still do it that way, and I recorded Sunday’s devotional for singing later.

It’s after 11 pm now and a full day of churching is behind me. In addition to the morning service at St. Paul, I also attended the afternoon church anniversary service at The House of God of Lumber City where my cousin’s husband is pastor.

I just finished watching Joel Osteen on Oprah’s Lifeclass and Oprah’s Next Chapter. I watch his broadcasts regularly and had the opportunity to visit Lakewood Church while in Houston during my cross-country road trip. Instead of services at Lakewood, I worshiped that Sunday at Houston’s Fountain of Praise with author Nakia R. Laushaul.

While out sightseeing Monday, I stopped by Lakewood and discovered that it was open to visitors! I expected to run in for a few minutes, check out the place then be on my way but when I entered that empty sanctuary, the energy was so high that I had to sit and stay awhile. I felt both peaceful and exhilarated and as the energy enveloped me, all I wanted to do was revel in it. When I finally pulled myself away, I visited the bookstore where the very friendly staff invited me to attend service on my next visit to Houston. “We would love to have you, and Pastor greets all visitors after service,” they said.

Daddy’s window at St. Paul

But back to my visit to St. Paul. As I said, I didn’t know how the visit would impact me, thanks to GB, so I took a few tissues in with me. Once in the sanctuary, I tried recalling what it looked like the last time I was there but it all looked new to me. As I greeted everyone, some of their names escaped me but they all knew I was a Bess. The only emotional moment came when Cousin Romena showed me Daddy’s stained-glass window overlooking the deacons’ corner, depicting Mary and Joseph admiring the baby Jesus. That emotion was short-lived, though, because the pastor approached at that moment. I commended him on his sermon and for urging his congregation to vote, to vote early, and to vote for President Obama.

I’m thankful that I can now remember my father without the sadness that weighed me down for three decades. I can recall the night he died, but I still can’t recall the days following. And despite my efforts otherwise, I still can’t recall his funeral and can remember very little about the subsequent months and years. I’m thinking, though, that a life free of sadness, even if I’m without some memories, is a better way to honor my father than allowing the grief to dictate the course of my life. Letting go of it all wasn’t the easiest thing I’ve ever done, but it is without a doubt one of the best things I’ve ever done.

As for the tissues I took with me to St. Paul, I used one and gave the other to my cousin Robin as we listened to his nephew, Howard Jr., deliver a very touching tribute to his father at The House of God.

Challenges and opportunities

I’ve blogged lately about how wonderful it is being home on the farm. As great as it is, though, my visit here has also presented a few challenges that are giving me the opportunity to resolve some issues. It often feels like I’m walking back in time learning things I missed the first time and unlearning a few things that I did.

The challenge isn’t a problem most days but on the days that it is, I find myself asking, “What am I supposed to take from this experience?” The answer is clear but the process isn’t so easy. I won’t go into detail about it but sometimes I resent having to go through it. I know that once I do, though, it’ll be behind me and I’ll be a step closer to my destination.

I spent yesterday cleaning the deck and chairs then washed my car. During that time, the challenge showed up and rather than confront it, I distanced myself from it. That in itself was a switch because previously, I would’ve cussed and fussed about it. Now, I choose to maintain my peace instead.

I got up a bit later than usual this morning and decided to spend the day away from the house. I didn’t go to a park but found inspiration instead while reading a paper my son asked me to proof for him. I recall not so long ago when he, too, was a challenge. I worried that he was ruining his life by not following the path I’d laid out for him, and I did all I could to redirect him. After months of unsuccessful efforts, I finally accepted that he has his own journey and “let go and let God.”

It was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done as I witnessed him go through things I didn’t think he needed to experience. I was tempted many times to rescue him and recall one night in particular when my resolve was tested. I won’t share his story but what I will say is that it was the dead of winter and right after declining his request, I started formulating a rescue plan. Before I could complete it, though, I fell asleep. When I awakened the next morning, I trusted that things were as they should be and was at peace.

I had planned initially to leave for my cross-country road trip during the spring of 2011. As fate would have it, however, a few challenges delayed my leaving until January 2012. The first was my mother’s sudden illness and the second, my son’s return home. But here again, these challenges turned out to be opportunities.

We brought Mama to Atlanta for medical treatment and since I transported her to many of her doctor appointments, we spent quite a bit of time together. My relationship with her had been strained for many years but her being here provided me the opportunity to see that I really had released much of what I’d carried for so many years.

During our drives, we talked and laughed; we admired Atlanta’s skyline, something I’d taken for granted the 26 years I’d lived there; we admired the foliage, lunched at various restaurants, and sat by the Chattahoochee River. We even visited my favorite lake at Indian Springs and she met my good friend Diann Wilhot, owner of Mrs. Lee’s Stagecoach Sweet Shop.

Mama’s being in Atlanta was also my first opportunity to let go of what I refer to as my long worn Wonder Woman cape. I had begun to feel that my road trip would be delayed indefinitely, or at least until Mama had fully recovered.

I was feeling especially down about it one Sunday afternoon when a good friend telephoned. She sensed something was wrong and before I could even finish explaining what I was feeling, she stopped me. Diedre (Jenkins Rankins) went on to remind me of the time when, at 14, I began repressing my needs and that it was time now for me to live for me. I will always thank her for remembering my story and for saying what I needed to hear that Sunday afternoon. After our conversation, I was at peace and knew that not delaying my trip was as it should be.

As for Wade, I initially saw his return home as the continuation of our earlier challenges. But what it really did was afford us the opportunity to heal our relationship before we both embarked upon the next phase of our journeys. As I read his “Introduction to Victor Thomas” today, I saw that he has embraced his journey and found the “spoils of war” that my friend Dianne Rosena Jones wrote about in her book, Tragic Treasures: Discovering Spoils of War in the Midst of Tragedy. His goal, he said, “is to touch lives and help as many people as I can both financially and spiritually.” What I also saw today were answered prayers. Again, I was at peace.